


Luke

by Laurasauras



Series: Vampire!Dirk [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Dubious Consent, Due to Vampire Powers, M/M, Origin Story, Slavery, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurasauras/pseuds/Laurasauras
Summary: Prequel to myHidden Bloodlinesstory. How Dirk met his master and became a vampire.





	1. Meeting

You don’t  _ need _ to finish school. You could join the army, like Jake did, you could get a trade. You’re good with your hands, you could be a mechanic. You could be a carpenter, maybe. 

But you  _ like _ school, for the most part. Not the people. Not the ones who thought it was funny to pick on the orphan boy, as if none of them had lost relatives in the war. But the classes. The classes are good. 

Some of the teachers are very decent. But … there’s a line there that they won’t cross. They’re happy to give you extra lessons, to lend books and look over your projects, you’ve even had a cup of tea with Mr Scott as he talked science with you. But none of them are exactly rushing to help you get out of the orphanage. 

Kids are getting fostered at higher rates than ever, you’ve kept up with the news of how it’s all changing, but you’re 16. No one wants a teenager. And when you were younger, you had that problem with your temper. You don’t have it anymore. It cost you a family, cost you multiple opportunities to have a family, so you chilled the fuck out. 

‘Dirk,’ Mr Scott says. 

You pretend to be really absorbed in the worksheet you’re looking at.

You hear him sigh. You don’t want to disappoint him, but you don’t want to go back to the home. 

‘Dirk,’ he repeats. 

You look up, because he sounds tired. He looks tired, too. He probably just wants to get out of here, go home to his wife and kids. You hate his wife and kids.

‘You know, if you hurried, you could catch up with the other kids. The ones who were in detention for a reason.’

‘You want me hanging out with the naughty kids?’ you say, trying to stall.

‘Oh, yes, they’re all massive delinquents. Especially Clare, you know she was a whole ten minutes late to class? And Gabe didn’t hand in his homework, I nearly arrested him, but I thought detention might be sufficient.’

You smile at your worksheet. 

‘Go on,’ he says. 

You know he won’t let you stay, you might as well do as he says. Might as well try. When it doesn’t work out you can tell him all about it. You still take your time putting everything into your bag. Maybe you won’t be able to catch up with them.

They’re all loitering out the front of school, just chatting, just a gang of six kids, nothing to be wary of. Except you know that’s not true. Kids are plenty enough to be wary about.

‘Hey, Strider,’ Clark calls. 

You slouch over to them.

‘Cast an eyeball on this, will ya?’

He hands you a poorly drawn car.

‘What am I looking at?’ you say.

‘That’s my baby, gonna get her done up nice.’

‘Uh huh,’ you say.

‘Come on, you greaser, you know your shit, don’t ya?’

‘I know  _ some  _ shit,’ you say.

‘So come take a look. You can come hang with us after.’

You fold your arms across your chest and look at him suspiciously.

‘What’s your game?’ you ask.

‘He doesn’t know his exhaust from his steering wheel, Strider, you gotta help him,’ Clare says, smirking at you. 

You’re not about to point out that this is the most any of them have ever talked to you. But you feel like it’s all a trap. Even if it is, there isn’t much you can do about it. 

You shrug. They grin at each other. You have a blade in your specibus and you’re not above using it.

*

They lead you to a filthy garage with a shell of a car in it. 

‘Well, this is a piece of shit,’ you say. 

‘Okay, yes, maybe  _ now _ she’s a bit rough around the edges …’ Clark says

‘You’re gonna need some serious dough,’ you say.

‘Aw, man, you’re always tinkering with shit, can’t you just …?’ Clark makes a gesture with his hands that you think is him miming screwing something in. 

You give him your most unimpressed face.

‘Who’s this then?’

You jump and turn around at the new voice. There’s a boy, your age or maybe younger, standing casually in the doorway.

‘Luke!’ Clare says. 

She swings her hips as she walks over to him like she thinks he’s a proper dreamboat. He’s not unattractive, but he’s very small to be treated that way. It makes you want to look at him closer. You’re almost a whole room apart, but he’s looking at you, probably because he doesn’t know you and no one’s answered his question. You shouldn’t be able to tell his eye colour from so far away, but his eyes are  _ ridiculously _ blue and they contrast with everything else about him, his dark hair and pale face, his black shirt open at the collar. 

‘This is Strider,’ Gabe says.

‘Come here, Strider,’ Luke says.

You start walking almost automatically. He has a quiet kind of authority. You want to do what he says. You’re not sure you trust that impulse. You’ve met people like this before. You’ve been taken advantage of before. 

You stop right in front of him. He circles you slowly. You keep cool. You widen your stance subtly, like you’re just shifting your feet. Tony taught you how to fight. You’re not huge, but you’re deceptively strong. 

Luke stops in front of you again. You’re taller than him, but he doesn’t seem to mind looking up at you. 

‘Good,’ he says. ‘Are you coming to the bash tonight?’

‘Hadn’t planned on it,’ you say. 

You haven’t been to any kind of party before. You’re not sure you’re invited to this one.

‘Come,’ he says.

You nod.

‘I was askin’ Strider to fix my ride,’ Clark says. 

‘You’ll need cash,’ Luke says.

‘Yeah …’ Clark says.

‘We’ll see,’ Luke says. 

He turns and walks out the door. Everyone follows, Clare hooking her arm in yours as if you’re friends. You’ve never spoken to her.

‘What’s going on?’ you ask her, quietly.

‘It’s fine,’ she says. 

That did not answer your question. You decide that this is enough, you’ll go back to the home, at least there you know how to avoid trouble. You turn away, but Clare holds onto your arm. She’s strong, for a girl. Hell, she’s strong for any kind of person. You pull on your arm. 

‘Dirk, it’s fine,’ she says. ‘It’s just a party.’

‘I don’t trust him,’ you say.

‘Luke? He’s a doll, really. He’s got crazy rich parents and they’re never around, so we go and there’s booze and dope and if we bring someone new …’

‘What happens to the new person?’

‘Luke’s looking for someone new on his crew. If we find someone good he gives us a little somethin’.’

You consider grabbing your blade from your sylladex and either threatening her or actually stabbing her. But she’d just raise the alarm and then you’d be fending off all seven of them. You know what those odds are like. Maybe once they get to the party they’ll be distracted by the drugs and the alcohol and you can slip away. 

Luke takes your hand when you arrive at an old mansion of a house and his grip is every bit as unshakable as Clare’s. More, even. He smirks when you try to shake him off. You tell yourself panicking won’t solve anything, that you have to go along with it, that you’ll find a way out, you just have to use your head.

But then, of course, that hasn’t always been the case. You’re not letting them get you inside, at least on the street you still have a chance of running for it.

You flip the fuck out. 

You drop to the ground like a tantruming toddler and kick at his feet. You think he drops your hand out of surprise more than anything else. Somehow he grabs you by the front of your shirt and pulls you up. You didn’t even see him move. 

‘What are you doing?’ he says.

You decide that instead of answering, you’re gonna go ahead and headbutt him. You aren’t super steady on your feet, but you manage the blow and then your knife is in your hand and Luke is grinning at you menacingly. The other kids have you surrounded. You were so right, you’re always right, no one ever  _ just _ wants to hang out. 

Gabe advances and you have the briefest moment to worry about what the school will do if they find out you stabbed a student before you duck under his fist and sink your knife into his gut. 

‘Mother _ fuck _ ,’ he says. 

‘I’ll get to you in a moment,’ Luke says.

Gabe steps backwards and falls down into a seated position, holding his wound with both hands. You stare at him and wonder if you can justify taking someone’s life to spare your own. Even just hurting someone to spare yourself hurt. Your heart is drumming along in your ears and your grip on your knife is slippery from the blood you got on the handle. They’re all too intense, they’re bright-eyed and moving fast, even when they’re just adjusting their stances or flicking hair out of their faces. You feel like a rabbit surrounded by wolves.

‘Why are you doing this?’ you whine.

They won’t answer, they never answer. There isn’t an answer. You’re just trying to figure out who is gonna try to charge you next.

‘Because they love me,’ Luke says. ‘You’re right, though, this is a bit ridiculous. Strider, put the knife away.’

He’s being reasonable, if you put the knife away it will stop. Except it won’t. You struggle for a moment, torn between your entire body  _ screaming _ at you that you’re in danger and your mind which is … just so sure that it’s the right thing to do. 

You put the knife away.

‘Good boy,’ he says. ‘Now, stand still. Don’t try and run away. I have to take care of this.’

He turns and crouches down on his toes to look at Gabe. 

‘It doesn’t hurt, baby, show me where he got you.’

Your feet are frozen, you’re in shock or something, but suddenly you’re very sure of what you need to do. You pull your knife out of your sylladex and throw it as hard as you can at Luke. You’re aim is off, so it hits him on the arm instead of his back. It still sinks into his flesh and suddenly you’re very grateful for all the hours you’ve wasted practicing this shit. 

He looks at it and sighs. Not exactly the reaction you were expecting.

‘Do you have any other blades?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ you say.

‘Don’t touch any of them for the rest of the night.’

Your brain starts to rebel again, caught between going along with whatever this  _ clearly dangerous _ kid says so he won’t hurt you and fighting your way out. 

And then you’re distracted because he’s pressing his face to Gabe’s stomach.

You whip your head around to stare at everyone else. They’re  _ fine _ with it. But … they’re right in the  _ open _ . And, what the fuck, it is so not the time for that? Luke’s head is moving smoothly across Gabe’s skin, like he’s  _ licking _ at the blood. You are very much not okay with this. 

‘What the fuck,’ you say.

‘Did you want us to do something here?’ Clark asks.

Luke straightens up and wipes his hand across the back of his mouth.

‘This is the orphan boy you told me about, yes?’

‘What the fuck has that got to do with anything?’ you spit.

‘There’s nothing wrong with being an orphan,’ Luke says.

You glare at him. Sure, the kid with the money and the house and the parents (so what if they’re absentee, you have  _ nothing _ ), he’s gonna tell you there’s nothing wrong with being an orphan. Like you don’t know that. Like it’s you who has the problem with it, not the rest of the fucking world.

Plenty of kids lost their parents in the war, you have no idea why you got singled out. It got better when you had Jake, people didn’t want to fuck with him. And you thought they’d moved on in that time, too. You haven’t had to deal with this crap in ages. You’re still ready for it.

Your legs feel frozen to the ground and you hate that shock does this, that your stupid body seems to have decided to choose the bullshit third option in flight or fight. You’ve never had a problem with running away before. 

‘Come along, Strider, I want to talk to you about joining my crew.’

‘If you think I’m going anywhere with you …’ you say.

‘It wasn’t a request.’ Luke walks towards you until you’re toe to toe. ‘Come with me,’ he says, looking into your eyes.

You go with him.


	2. Loophole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rape elements here. I don't go into detail, but it's there. Ask to tag.

You slam your fists into the punching bag, over and over. It takes so much to tire you after Luke has bitten you, even when he doesn’t take much of your blood, and he bit you last night. It’s buzzing through you. And it’s paying off. You’re double the size you were a year ago. Some of that is finally being able to eat as much as you want, some of it is the intense exercise Luke asks you to do, some of it is stock standard growth spurt. Your dad was tall, too.

But you’re restless. 

In the first couple of months after he took you as his … project, he didn’t ask you to change too much. Just suggested you might occasionally go to the gym, made sure you knew he would always have food. He encouraged you to help Clark fix his car up and it was almost like having friends for the first time in your life. Not six months exchanging jokes and secret handjobs with Jake, not occasional hateful sex and reluctant mentorship from Tony, but casual friends who didn’t want anything  _ more. _ Well, apart from mechanics help. Which doesn’t register for you.

Until Luke did want more, because of course he did. Until the suggestion to exercise became the kind of request you didn’t like to say no to. You don’t think you  _ can  _ say no to him. Which is so incredibly not your jam. And yet so incredibly the kind of situation you seem to always get yourself into.

Luke has you doing the same thing every day; go to school, do well in class, go to the gym until it’s dark, go to him, eat all you want, let him fuck you, go to the orphanage, don’t make trouble.

You’re sick of it.

Thing is, you’re too good at school to be allowed to leave and the home would send cops after you if you tried anyway. You’ve seen it happen. No kid wants to be in an orphanage. Aging out is too long for some. 

You don’t know how long you zone out for contemplating your situation, but when you finally snap back into your body your arms are aching and your knuckles are bleeding through their tape. You frown at them. You need to focus up. 

You drag the tape off your skin, ignoring the sting. You’ve worked yourself up into a bit of a state, you realise with some detachment. It’s like part of your brain is quietly observing the rest of it going insane.

You light a cigarette and watch your hands shake. And then you have a revelation. You need the library.

You spend a lot of time in the library, due to you being a giant nerd. You smile at the librarian as you pass her.

‘The library’s closed, Dirk,’ she says.

‘I’m not going to the library,’ you lie. 

‘Okay,’ she says doubtfully.

‘Have a nice weekend.’

‘It’s Tuesday, Dirk!’

You smile at her again and walk away. To the library. Duh.

There’s a lock on the door but there isn’t a kid in the home who doesn’t know how to pick locks. It’s basically a rite of passage, both learning and then passing the skill on. You pop it open after only a minute or so of fiddling. You pull the doors shut behind you so you aren’t caught. 

You like the library. You like the slightly claustrophobic feel of the stacks. You like the smell of the books. You like the isolation. It’s dark outside the windows except for the odd street light and it gives the place an eerie feel. You don’t turn the lights on. You had good vision before Luke and now it’s excellent. You go to the science section automatically, to the shelves on philosophy that you’ve been haunting lately. 

You pull down the biggest book you see and open it. The leather cover slaps against your forearm. You stroke down the page, feel the texture of the paper, pinch the edge between your fingers … and pull up, ripping the paper free. You crunch it into a ball and throw it over your shoulder.

You can feel your face stretched into a manic grin. You haven’t done anything to rock the boat in so long, unless you count your pathetic resistance the night you met Luke. You don’t.

You rip and throw the paper all around you, not moving, building up tinder. You keep tearing until you’re just holding the empty binding and grab another book, and another.

Thing about being a motorhead, you always have the most random collection of shit on you. You currently have half a jerrycan of gasoline in your sylladex, wedged in your car shit groove and liquids stack. You splash a little on the pile of paper, but that won’t take much to light, so you’re stingy. You trail the petrol to the door and hesitate.

You haven’t done anything too bad yet. But the library is in the middle of the school and it is full of paper and wooden shelves. It’ll catch like a dream and infect the classrooms next door, one of which is the woodwork room. You literally couldn’t plan this better if you were the architect of the building. The whole school will burn before anyone has the chance to stop it.

You think about your teachers, the ones who you  _ like _ , but who have a line they won’t cross. You think about how the only people who have ever helped you since you were a kid have been fucking you, how unfair that exchange is, how you actually would have fucked any of your teachers if they would have gotten you out of that shitty home with those fucking kids but they wouldn’t have you and now you’re here.

You flick your lighter and watch the flame dance. It’s a good lighter. Luke gives you a lot of treats. You’re supposed to be careful with them. So you choose your aim with care and throw it.

Holy fuck is gasoline flammable. If you weren’t infected with Luke’s speed, you probably would have been quite badly hurt. As it is, you had let it sit, let the gas rise from the liquid and you can feel your face is raw from the split second it faced the flames. 

You sprint away, the smell of the petrol burning your nose even once you’ve left it. You race down hallways, to the front door. It’ll be locked by now, but you’re not pausing. You force yourself even faster and hit the glass door side on, holding your forearms in front of your face.

You’ve never jumped through a door before and you won’t be recommending it to anyone. The glass stops you on your trajectory and bruises your arm and shoulder as you slam into it and then shatters around you, completely taking away the thing that was holding you up. There’s a heart stopping moment where you are helpless in the air before you fall to the ground, hard. Onto the pile of glass you’ve created.

‘Ow,’ you whimper.

Fuck, that’s pathetic. 

You’re kind of stuck, you don’t want to move and force the glass more into you but you absolutely need to move because a) you need to take the glass out, and b) you just lit the building behind you on fire. You’re starting to feel real stupid for not just picking the lock. Or trying the door to see if it hadn’t been locked yet. You’ve definitely wasted the minute you might have saved jumping through the damn thing by lying here feeling sorry for yourself. 

You don’t know how to stand up without rolling your uninjured parts into the glass, so you just go for it, rolling onto your back and then jumping to your feet. That is not a small amount of blood there.

Now that you’ve left the school, you can feel the undeniable pull to go to Luke, that thrumming current in your body that tells you,  _ do as he says, go to him, that’s the next thing to do _ . You ignore it as best you can and look at your arm. That’s a large bit of glass sticking out there. You probably don’t want to move it. You actually do have a packet of bandaids on you, you cut your hands on your mechanics stuff all the time, but you don’t think they’re gonna cut it. 

You have to go to Luke, though. You have to go to him  _ right now. _

You want to scream with frustration at your stupid enslaved mind. You stagger forward and turn around to look at the school. The sight of smoke fills you with satisfaction. It’s almost enough to drown out the need to get to Luke. Not quite.

It’s like an itch under your skin, like the high pitched whine in your ears you get after working with the angle grinder for too long, like the taste of bile at the back of your throat that you can’t get rid of no matter how much water you drink. It’s like all of those things and like none of them, like its own thing. Just … inescapable. 

You start walking. You know from experience that the feeling lessens the faster you go. You’ve dawdled before and you’ve raced before. You know how it feels. The pull eases slightly when you start to walk in the right direction, just enough for you to know there’s relief in sight. It’s like when you start to itch a mosquito bite, when for a second it feels like scratching it will make it better even though you’ve done it a million times before and then you just make yourself bleed like every other time. 

You walk faster. Because you’re a fucking idiot. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

You don’t take the bus, as the smallest act of rebellion you’re capable of. Apart from setting the school on fire. 

Holy shit, you set the school on fire. 

You start laughing as you walk from the sheer ridiculousness of it. A fire engine screams past you and you laugh harder. You have to stop walking because you can’t breathe, you fold yourself in half laughing. You know you must look strange to the people who live around here, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can’t believe you did that.

You feel lighter when the laughter eases off, but also anxious. Because you’re not with Luke, you’re supposed to go to Luke after the gym and you’re not even walking, you need to go to Luke. You shake your head and start walking again. 

Luke’s waiting for you when you get to his house. You now know that he doesn’t have any parents, hasn’t had parents for years. It’s his house. Luke doesn’t wait like most people wait. He isn’t standing by the door or fidgeting. He doesn’t get out of his chair when you open the door. No lock. Why would he need it? He just stares at you.

‘Zone out again, Strider?’ he says.

‘Uh huh.’

You did. You zoned out so bad you cut your knuckles.

‘You’re covered in blood.’

‘Yup.’

‘Is it yours?’

You nod. 

He sighs and stands.

‘One day, I’ll teach you to talk to me easily. It’s like squeezing blood from a stone with you.’

He beckons you towards him. It’s not a command and you can resist it, but if you do he’ll just hypnotise you. You like doing things on your own, even if they’re things he wants you to do. You walk to him. He starts turning your arm over, examining the cuts, the jagged bits of glass sticking out. He’s gentle.

‘Glass.’

You nod again.

‘What did you do?’

‘Jumped through a glass door.’

‘Why?’

‘School was on fire.’

He stops looking at your arm and looks at your face.

‘Dirk …’ he says gently. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Glass in my arm.’

‘I know. I’ll fix it. You know I’ll fix it.’

He strokes your cheek. You lean into his touch like a moron. Like an idiot who hasn’t been touched gently in  _ so long _ . Tears prick your eyes and you swallow, look away. 

‘Oh, pet …’ Luke says. He kisses your tears away. ‘I’m going to bite you first, maybe that will help with the pain. This one is quite big, you were right not to take it out. You’re a brave boy, good boy.’ He kisses your cheek one more time. He can barely reach it. He doesn’t tell you to bend down.

It always hurts a bit when he bites you, but not much, and it’s over a second after it starts. Then you start feeling floaty, like you’re high. Nothing else works this fast. You blink your eyes, trying to maintain your focus. It doesn’t work. 

‘There’s a boy,’ he says. ‘This is big one, baby, this is gonna hurt.’

He yanks the glass out of your arm and you cry out despite yourself. You sob and try to clutch your arm, but Luke knocks your hand away.

‘That’s the worst one. I’m not going to lick it just yet, there’s still a lot of glass there. Oh, Strider, you’ve made a mess of yourself.’

He pats you on the head, strokes your hair. You hate yourself for finding it soothing.

‘Sit yourself down, I’ll get tweezers or something. So fragile. Baby boy, when you’re immortal this type of nonsense doesn’t happen to you, you have to forgive your Luke for being a bit out of touch here.’

You sit on the chair he was waiting in and wait while he flits around the house. Your arm  _ throbs _ , you feel every beat of your heart pounding through it. You’re crying and you know that’s bad, that’s dangerous, if someone sees you crying they’ll belt you, scream at you, teach you to be better than this …

Luke moves in front of you so quickly you don’t even see him enter the room. He puts his fingers under your chin and tilts it up. 

‘You’re okay, pet,’ he says. He kisses you gently on your lips. He pulls back and looks at you with the full force of his gaze. His eyes are more blue than anything natural. They make you think of drawings of jellyfish, of electricity animating Frankenstein’s monster.

He looks away and rips your shirt, pulling the fabric away. You yelp when it tugs on your skin, stuck in place by blood and gore and glass.

He frowns. And then pours something from a bottle on your arm. 

You scream, tipping your head back.

He pulls your shirt again and this time it doesn’t resist as much. 

‘Drink some of this,’ he says, handing you the bottle. Vodka. You drink it obediently. The way he phrased it leaves the amount up to you. You gulp it down until he snatches it away. ‘If you throw up, I’ll be cross,’ he says. 

He pulls another piece of glass out of you and you manage to contain your noise to a low moan. He plucks at you and you squeeze your eyes shut to try and chase the drunk feeling you know the booze and bite should give you. 

You keep your eyes closed when he pulls your shirt off you and then keeps working. It’s a long time before you hear the clink of the tweezers on the little table next to you. You feel the sting of vodka on your skin again but this time you keep your lips tight and don’t make a noise. 

The feel of Luke’s tongue on your shoulder after all that is unspeakably soothing. You feel your whole body relax. You weren’t quite aware of how tightly you were clenching the arms of the chair until your knuckles relaxed. And you’ve not been gentle on them, either.

You sigh as he licks lower, wet and soft against your sore skin. Where he touches, the pain eases. You hear him spit and the sound of glass hitting glass. And then his tongue is back on you again.  _ Fuck. _

His fingers are on your chin again.

‘Strider, open your eyes.’

You do.

‘Is that better?’

‘Yes,’ you breathe.

He strokes down your jaw to your neck.

‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’

You show him your hands. He licks at your knuckles.

‘Thank you,’ you groan.

‘Good boy. That’s my good boy.’

He rolls your head back and licks and sucks at your neck. Not to drink, just to have. You lean back to let him. He climbs onto your lap and kisses you in earnest. You let your mouth part and kiss him as nicely as you can. You can feel his erection pressing into you. He pulls off his shirt.

‘Touch me,’ he says.

You trace up his back and then down his chest with light fingers.

The world blurs as he picks you up and takes you to his bedroom. You manage to avoid throwing up and then he’s taking your pants off and his. He pushes you down onto the bed. 

‘Scream for me, Dirk,’ he says, pressing your legs apart.

You know what he means, so you hold in the impulse to obey until he’s inside you, until he’s close. You moan first and then scream, digging your useless nails into his stupid invincible skin.

You’re allowed to have a shower afterwards, a long one. He never runs out of hot water and he never forces you to get out before you’re ready. You’ve cried too much today but in the shower you’re alone and the water drowns out the noise as you wash off the smell of petrol and blood and semen from your body.

 


End file.
